


From the Journals of Dr. James Corenthal

by chaoticbeing



Category: Everyman HYBRID
Genre: Additional Tags to Be Added, Characters to be added, Diary/Journal, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-08-17 00:48:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16505990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaoticbeing/pseuds/chaoticbeing
Summary: Personal journals donated graciously by his past wife, Maryanne (Although she seemed ready to let them go).





	1. June 11th, 1971

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> June 11th, 1971 - "The doctors greeted me first, then Maryanne, even though this was her appointment.  
> I never understood why on Earth they would do that."

06.11.71

 

    Maryanne took herself to the doctors today for an annual check-up. 

    It wasn’t actually her annual appointment, apparently that had happened weeks ago. 

    I didn’t know that at the time. She insisted that I should come along, for reasons, she wouldn’t go into detail, she talks so much, but, she still didn’t tell me  _ anything _ .

    Apparently, this type of check-up involved certain testing that she wanted me to be there. I have never seen her asking so much for me at any point.

    The doctors greeted me first, then Maryanne, even though this was her appointment.

    I never understood why on Earth they would do that, even now, having thought about it all day by now.

    The office was boring, and the magazines were women-centric, so I found myself still confused about why the doctors had greeted me first. Even if it has always been like this.

    I was dozing off without realising it, I think. That was when I was called in by the doctor.

    His voice sounded concerned, like he just wanted to share sympathy to me. I was confused about as much as him greeting me first.

    Maryanne was sobbing, an ugly sob that I had never heard before in our marriage.

    Today certainly was a day where things clicked that I had been blissfully apart of. For the first time outside of church, I was her husband, and that was my role.

    I was her husband and we were married. This must’ve been why the doctor greeted me first. I was the man of the house. I was her husband.

    I was her husband (and to an extent I still am now, tonight, even if I’m not sitting next to her in her bed.)

    (Yes. Her bed. I have my own bed.)

    (I don’t believe I’ve written this out before as a fact.)

    Anyway. She was crying, holding test results, and of course I felt sympathetic, although confused, for her. The doctor put his hand on my shoulder and explained that she had gotten test results.

    She was steiral.

    Although, I would’ve had no idea. We weren’t trying for children at any point. There wasn’t the sad moment that she wasn’t able to get pregnant.

    So, she can’t get pregnant.

    She was crying that we couldn’t have the perfect family she wanted, I did my best to comfort her.

    I let her lay on me and sob her eyes out onto my shirt, the doctor stared at us waiting to say goodbye to me first and Maryanne second.

    I heard her earlier praying and praying. Asking for God to reverse this, asking what she had done wrong,

    God cannot reverse this, this was medical. (I’m not saying that she was undeserving of this).

    The main guilt I have is that I would love to raise some children, but a long time ago, on our honeymoon, I accepted that it probably wouldn’t be our own.

    I can’t imagine sharing a bed with her for even one night.


	2. June 12th, 1971

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> June 12th, 1971 - "I can’t give the home the privilege of saying they’re saving the children, or helping them more than the bare minimum.  
> (I think it is more of a holding place before they turn eighteen and get kicked out into the world. Although, eighteen might be too generous. I’ve seen many in their early-teens suddenly leaving.)  
> (They never care enough to mark them as “missing”. A resource thing, I believe.)"

06.12.71

 

    Maryanne was downcast this morning during breakfast. 

    I brewed her coffee and set the cup down and saw how she kept her eyes on the plate of food.

    I think, maybe, she was expecting my sympathies. So I did what I should, as her husband, and comforted her.

    She made an off comment about how she had prayed all night.

    “You must be exhausted, then.”

    Maybe she expected me to ask or reassure her that it could’ve worked.

    I couldn’t lie to her like that.

    Instead, I told her that she should get some rest, take a nap or the likes. Or help herself to the mug of coffee, I could some at the home.

    The traffic wasn’t as heavy as it had been before getting there.

    Might’ve been because of school being let out recently, and everyone is travelling. I think, at this point, everyone had done their migrating.

    I got my coffee. Bitter, again, too dark.

    There wasn’t any issue with drinking it, however.

    So I kept a watch on the others floating in and out of the room where they always had coffee that tasted artificial and the scarce amount of treats some kind-hearted coworker brought in.

    There was a younger man weaving through my coworkers, and I don’t call him one of my coworkers because I had never seen him before.

    He couldn’t’ve been any more than a couple months of working here. Too young.

    None of my coworkers match him in age.

    Eighteen, perhaps? Maybe older.

    I remember he looked anxious trying to pick out something, napkin used to hide his fingerprints.

    He had noticed me staring and locked eyes with me, almost begging for approval so he wouldn’t feel guilty.

    I gave him a nod. He took his breakfast and dashed off.

    I had to smile, it was very feline-like.

    I don’t understand why he asked me.

    My coffee tasted even worse once it had cooled off, but I needed the caffeine, but I cringe now thinking about how awful it stained my tongue.

    Never again.

    (I say that as if it’ll stop me the next time I’m in a rush in the morning.)

    The rest of the morning was appointments with some of the children here.

    Most of them seemed relieved seeing me come in, and I enjoyed talking to them (when the topic was cheerful. When it wasn’t, it somehow hurt more.)

    Today, the trend seemed to be children that simply had been left by one parent, and something happened to the other, and now they were here.

    A little boy who I had never seen before got attached to me instantly, 

    (I was told later he was like this to every male doctor he saw with a beard and mustache like mine. A trait his father had, I gather)

    His name was Brian Michelle. He was about six, and however was aware what happened to his father, he clearly showed disinterest in mentioning anything about his mother.

    His mother was the one who dropped him off here, according to his files.

    He had healed since then, but a slow progress, according to his files.

    No one had any idea why his father had left, if Brian clearly loved him.

    Brian said that one day he didn’t come home from work.

    These cases are the ones that interest me the most. There are obvious things missing, and truths that want to be uncovered, if I worked hard enough,

    However, I wasn’t the psychologist put on this case. That honour belonged to Dr. Harolds. 

    But Dr. Harolds was sick today. I was given his notes.

    An intriguing, intriguing case.

    The rest of the time I was getting updates on previous cases I had checked up on.

    Most of them were doing… alright.

    I can’t give the home the privilege of saying they’re saving the children, or helping them more than the bare minimum.

    (I think it is more of a holding place before they turn eighteen and get kicked out into the world. Although, eighteen might be too generous. I’ve seen many in their early-teens suddenly leaving.)

    (They never care enough to mark them as “missing”. A resource thing, I believe.)

    By lunch I had covered the ground I needed to, and was able to appreciate the break I was given.

    I grabbed leftovers from dinner a couple nights ago.

    I’m not saying the food was what made the lunch wonderful, it was the warm weather that I was able to stand in for a couple minutes.

    Later, I was questioned about the Mining Town case. A couple of my coworkers were interested in finding out what I had figured out.

    I had to explain that I had been assigned practically every other case besides the Mining Town (an exaggeration but not one too extreme.)

    Then I realised I could adopt.

    A sudden thing, yes, but it’s the truth. I pushed past them, excusing myself, and got to the phone we’re allowed to use to call home.

    The conversation I don’t remember word for word.

    But she started crying. She was crying from excitement.

    Yes, yes, yes.

    She wanted to adopt.

    I don’t believe that I’ve made her this happy in a long time.

    She wants to adopt, and she wants them to be young, so she can be their mother, the one they come to, the one who nurtures them and helps them grow into amazing people.

    That was what she told me.

    The rest of work was uneventful compared to that.

    Perhaps I am being a good husband.


	3. June 13th, 1971

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> June 13th, 1971 - "Most of them adored her. They called her Miss Maryanne, and I swear, my heart almost melted.  
> She and I read to them when their doctors didn’t need to see them. The books were barely bound together, but she didn’t protest.  
> This was her introduction to potentially being their mother."

06.13.71

 

    Today I decided to take Maryanne to work with me.

    When I say I “decided”, I mean she requested (demanded) that she come along, and I said yes. That was my decision.

    She spoke on and on while in the car with me. It was a… sudden change to normal.

    Maybe I appreciated the silence of yesterday more in the car.

    She talked about what she wanted from the children to adopt, the same terms she made on the phone call yesterday.

    Young, preferably Christian, under six (yes, she said young, but then she made the specific comment that they had to be under six exactly.), and more than one. Siblings, I suggested, yes, siblings.

    My coworkers didn’t know who she was or were simply being courteous asking for her name.

    She laughed, asking if I had never brought my own wife up?

    My coworkers covered my ass, thankfully.

    They suggested their own cases as possibly being in the running for adoption. Either they did this out of a warm heart or wanting to get rid of problem cases.

    Some of them were definitely the latter. 

    (Not that those children don’t deserve chances, just that I knew they were causing problems to their assigned doctors.)

    Maryanne agreed, deciding that she wanted to follow all of my coworkers’ advice and check out each one.

    I then explained that only a fraction of them were what she was looking for. I didn’t want her blaming me for not warning her.

    (She did later, for a young girl that had just turned seven. The files said no such thing.)

    That's how we spent the rest of the morning. She plastered on her church-goer voice, all smiles,  the voice of a mother that a child

    No, that’s too cruel.

    She made her tone into one that I had never heard her use.

    One that dripped maternal like the sweetners by the coffee machine.

    (The bitter was still in my mouth.)

    Most of them adored her. They called her Miss Maryanne, and I swear, my heart almost melted.

    She and I read to them when their doctors didn’t need to see them. The books were barely bound together, but she didn’t protest.

    This was her introduction to potentially being their mother.

    (I had the doctors ask how they thought of her after we left. One told me as we were leaving about the results: Something about Maryanne seemed off to them.)

    (Perhaps it was because they hadn’t had an experience with a mother before.)

    (Or they could taste the bitterness in their mouth as well as I.)

    During lunch, she insisted I stay out longer than my break normally allows, and we go to a restaurant of some kind.

    I drove us to our favorite diner, the one I believe we had our…

    She reminded me it was our first date.

    Yes, yes, of course, because her sister couldn’t take her.

    The food was much better than the leftovers I normally have for lunch. I always get surprised.

    She expressed that all of them seem wonderful in some sorts, but some weren’t exactly what she wanted.

    When I asked her to go into details, she made a vague hand jester and said that I would know when she made it obvious.

    That wasn’t helpful in the slightest.

    So, none of them?

    None of them. We’d have to keep looking.

    When I got back, I received another questioning about the Miner four. Maryanne perked up at this.

    I did not have the files on hand for the four of them, even if by technicality, they were my case.

    I have the hunch they’ve replaced me with another doctor on staff.

    (Maybe I got too attached? The four of them are hard not to get attached to.)

    I’m almost certain that in general, you can’t just go digging for files. 

    But… Maryanne wanted me to. When Maryanne wants me to do something, I have to do it.

    I found the old set of files, not quite updated, that they had given to me several months ago.

    For the rest of the day, Maryanne stayed wherever she had went. I had given her the files, and told her to keep them hidden. I wasn’t allowed to have them, after all.

    A couple coworkers of mine told me they saw her with it, but weren’t going to tell. Out of courtesy, maybe, or maybe even they didn’t want to mess with her.

    They covered my ass for a second time.

    Perhaps I should bring something in Monday, as a thanks.

    Maryanne has been holding onto the files tightly since we got home.

    I don’t know how to tell her I need to bring them back eventually.

    I can assume, however, that these are children she is interested in. Which is good, because I am interested in them too.


	4. June 14th, 1971

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> June 14th, 1971 - "This home originally was three bedroom.  
> If we had two children, and shared a bedroom, it would be perfect.  
> But that was too nuclear for us.  
> For our situation."

06.14.71

   

    The weekend is upon us, and I couldn’t check on the children that Maryanne has taken such an interest in.

    She’s been in such a wonderful mood.

    She even cooked breakfast the way I like it, not the way that was easiest for her.

    We ate and enjoyed the morning in a way we hadn’t in a while. She kept the folders under her arm, or beside her, or simply near her.

    I ask her what she thought of the children’s cases.

   She said she didn’t care about what they had been through; that didn’t matter in the “grand scheme of things”.

    (The coffee this morning was bitter.)

    There are several rooms in my home that would allowed to be made into bedrooms. Maryanne made a point of that.

    This home originally was three bedroom.

    If we had two children, and shared a bedroom, it would be perfect.

    But that was too nuclear for us.

    For our situation.

    Instead, she has her own bedroom (as I have mentioned before), as do I, which leaves one bedroom over.

    I brought this up to her. Sure, they could share a room at their current age, but once they hit their teens,

    She cut me off and pulled me upstairs. When I say pulled, I mean she took my hand, and dragged me.

    Here, the office up here, that neither of us use (Well it’d be a good sewing room but she does nothing of the sorts.)

    Here, it would work as a bedroom for two. Two of them could share a bedroom here, and two could use what was designated a bedroom already.

    I asked about the guest room. She acted like I had just insulted her mother.

    Because that room was for her mother, or for her sister, when they visited.

    (They have never visited here for the span of our marriage.)

    We spent the rest of the day cleaning out the office. She blamed me for the mess, but she used that room as much of a storage one as I.

    I found old pictures of her from high school.

    For a second, I thought she was a cheerleader. Then I remembered she stole that uniform from her older sister, the one who never visits.

    Her in high school perhaps was the time she got the most men coming after her.

    Then, we got married, and men leave her alone.

    Because I am her husband.

    The cleaning went smoothly.

    Lunch were sandwiches that she cut for us.

    I found several Bibles, some old crosses, and some small angels in the box. Maryanne explained that is was from when she was a child.

    I’m certain the church would enjoy these donations.

    I set this box aside and keep looking around, finding nothing else noteworthy.

    Clothes, things from my old dorm, college life packed into one box.

    By dinnertime, the room was cleared and ready for a couple beds, some dressers, perfect for two children.

    Dinner we went out.

    When I got home, I fixed myself a quick cup of coffee, and went into the box of college collections.

    I couldn’t’ve done that while Maryanne was with me. She’d ask too many questions.

    I found a picture of my roomate, Roberts, and I. Our sophomore year of college.

    The coffee was warm on my tongue.

    I’ll tell him about it when I see him on Monday.


End file.
